Winter Jacket (31 page)

"And she's
totally your type," Nikole added. "Blonde, pale, and long-limbed. I'm sure your staring has
nothing
to do with the fact that she looks like She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named."

I frowned.
It didn't seem fair to compare Hunter to a Harry Potter villain.  I was the one who kept messing up, not her. "Maybe I should try something different from now on," I mused out loud. "Small, short, and exotic."

"Should I be worried?" Nikole looked at me over the top of her sunglasses. "You just described my girlfriend."

“Hah,” I snorted. “Don’t tell Troian I said that then.  She’ll never let it drop.”

"Your secret is safe with me
,” she grinned conspiratorially. “Why don't you go talk to that girl?"

"She's not gay."
  And I still wanted my girlfriend.

"You don't know that.
Maybe she's just been waiting for the right girl to come along. You could be that girl."

"I don't want to ditch you."

Nikole threw her arm over the top of the lounge chair and stretched out her legs. "I'm sure I'll manage without you," she said, looking and sounding like she might take a nap in the sun.  “If you insist that you’re over Hunter, go over there and talk to that girl.”

“Take a shot.”

“I’m pretty sure the rules don’t apply to me,” she quipped.

I frowned. “I never said I was over her.”

“You know what I mean.  Go over there; see if it feels wrong to you.  If it does, you know you’re an ass who needs to fight for her girl the moment we get back home.”

I frowned
deeper. "I'm out of excuses."

"Go get her, Tiger."

I eased myself into the pool. The chlorinated water was cold against my sun-warmed skin, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.  I was a strong swimmer, having grown up on the Great Lakes and it took me only a few strokes to reach the poolside bar.  Seated at one of the submerged stools was the slender blonde woman Nikole had caught me staring at.  Her dark blue bikini looked dynamite against her alabaster skin.  Nikole was right. I
did
have a type.

I sat down at the empty stool beside her.  A college football game was being broadcast on the flat-screen television above the bar.  I didn’t recognize either of the teams playing; I was a bad lesbian and knew very little about sports.

I ordered myself a pineapple and Malibu, something I hadn’t done since my sorority days as an undergrad.  When I got my drink, I fidgeted uneasily.  I wanted to be able to talk to the woman seated beside me, but I had no idea what to say.  I wondered if Nikole was watching my every move, silently chuckling at my lack of Game.  I looked over once in her direction, but I couldn’t tell what was going on behind her large sunglasses.

“Goddamn it, White,” the blue bikini woman yelled.  “Catch the damn ball.”

I didn’t know how to flirt.  I didn’t trust myself – I’d probably try to be smooth and end up saying something about guys mishandling balls.  But beyond that, I didn’t
want
to flirt.  I wanted the woman in the blue bikini to be Hunter.  Instead of coming up with a line that was sure to fail, I twisted in my seat and faced the woman.

"
Hi.  I'm Elle."

Something about my awkward introduction seemed to amuse her. 
"Samantha."

We made small talk under the indirect shade of an oversized thatch roof.
She was from the East Coast, vacationing with a group of friends who were currently away getting spa treatments.   She didn't like strangers handling her like that, regardless if they were professionals and it was their job, so she'd decided to wait for them at the pool.   She wasn't gay, but she still accepted the drink I bought her. Even though I knew I wasn’t her type, it felt good to chat without worrying about moral or ethical ramifications.  I didn't realize how coiled I had become because of my attraction to Hunter.

About an hour later, after the football game ended, I went
back to the poolside bungalow where I'd left Nikole. Troian had returned; she didn't look happy, so I assumed the worst.

"How did the pitch meeting go?" I asked as I sat down in the unoccupied lounge chair next to her.

"Great," she said, tight-lipped. "They loved the idea and they want me to send them a pilot script to look over."

"That's fantastic, Troi!" I cheered. Her body language didn't mirror her news.
  Something was wrong with my friend. "Are you not happy with how the meeting went?" I guessed.

"The meeting was perfect."

"Then what's with the face?" I asked.

"You ditched my girlfriend to go flirt."

"She told me to," I defended myself.  If it hadn’t been at her insistence, I would have remained poolside with her.  “And I wasn’t flirting.”

"You left and boys bought her drinks."

"You know you don't have to worry about Nikole,” I laughed. “She's as loyal as they come.   She just needs to smile less."

"But why don't
I
get free drinks?" Troian pouted.

"Wait.
  You're upset because you want guys to hit on
you
?” I asked, shaking my head. “Troi, you don't even drink.
And
you don't like boys."

Her bottom lip stuck out even more. 
"They don't need to know that."

"I'll never understand you."

"Welcome to my world," Nikole quipped. She drank something pink from a long straw.  I would bet my bikini bottoms she hadn't paid for a drink all day.  I wondered how many drinks she'd had though. She had a great poker face when it came to alcohol. Her dangerous smile just got a little bit wider.

"I'm getting fried," I announced. "We should go back to the rooms and chan
ge so we can celebrate your successful meeting."

“That sounds like a great idea,” Troian nodded.  Her pout
had disappeared. “And I know exactly how we can celebrate.”

+++++

“A strip club?” I exclaimed. “Really?
This
is how you want to celebrate?” 

Troian nodded furiously.  “Dude, this place lets you eat
bomb sushi off of naked women.  Hello! That sounds like something that should be on everyone’s Bucket List.”

“Why couldn’t we just find a good sushi place to go to instead?” I whined.

“This
is
a good sushi place,” Troian exclaimed.  “I’ve read a ton of write-ups about it in like a million blogs and magazines.”

Nikole nodde
d. “She’s actually not lying,” she confirmed her girlfriend’s praise.  “Anyway, I’ve been curious about their food, too.” 

I sighed despondently.  There was no hope for a change in venue if Nikole was siding with Troian. 
I was outnumbered.  I would just have to suck it up.

I looked around at the modest-sized “gentleman
’s club.”  I’d never been to a strip club before, and I hadn’t known what to expect.  Troian had talked up the club the entire cab ride.  Apparently the place was supposed to be like an adult Disneyland or something.  To me though, it was all a little overwhelming.  The club was teeming with crowds, busy I thought even for a Saturday night in Hollywood. The women, the
dancers
, walking around and openly flirting with the club’s patrons were pretty, but in a very plastic, uniform way.  They all had the same breasts and the same teeth.   To make matters worse, I couldn’t even order a real drink – some law about nudity and alcohol.  I stared down at my glass of plain orange juice and shook my head.  What a waste.

“I’ve got an idea,” Troian announced.  Her “ideas” always made me nervous.

“What’s your idea?” I hesitantly asked.

“I’m buying you a lap dance.”

“No you are not.”

“It’s perfect,” she tried to reason.  “If you can let a hot, beautiful stranger grind on your unmentionables, then you’re over Hunter.  No harm.  No foul.”

I grimaced.

"Just don't let Elle pick the girl,
" Nikole warned her girlfriend.

"Why not?" Troian asked.

"Because she'll pick that one."  She imperceptibly nodded toward one corner of the club where a woman with long hair, the color of corn silk, stood.  Her hair was down and slid past her bare shoulders.  She was long-limbed with fine bones and small, but natural breasts.  I think they were the first real breasts I’d seen since we’d gotten here.  I held my breath until I saw her in profile.  She had a cute, upturned nose, but it wasn’t Hunter’s nose.  Close.  So very close.

"Wow.  Doppelganger,
" Troian openly admired.

I made a face. "
Whatever.  She looks nothing like her."

"Then you have no reason to reject my offer."
  Troian’s grin was nearly infectious. If I didn’t feel so uncomfortable in my surroundings I probably would have smiled as well.

I stared at her incredulously. 
"You really want to buy me a dance?"

She nodded enthusiastically.
"I'm ready to make it rain, but I've got the ‘Ol Ball And Chain," she said jerking her thumb in Nikole’s direction.

I shook my head.
It was cute when Troian insisted she wasn't completely whipped because we all knew the truth.

Despite my protests, Troian and Nikole picked out a stripper for me and pre-paid for the dance so I couldn’t back out.  The woman never told me her stage name, and I didn’t bother to ask.  She led me down a short, dark hallway, away from my friends and the main part of the club, and sat me down at a solitary chair.  She pulled back a set of thick curtains, partitioning off the space from the rest of the club. 

I couldn’t deny that she was attractive.  Despite their incessant teasing, Nikole and Troian had chosen a tall blonde for me.  She wore a matching black bra and panty set that contrasted against her pale skin.  The lacy convertible bra struggled to contain the ample breasts that heaved beneath their snug confines and the tiny lace underwear left little to the imagination, doing little more than covering her most intimate parts. She wore a red garter belt slung low on her chiseled hips, and the straps clung to strong thighs and connected to the sheer black thigh-high nylons that covered the expanse of her slender legs.

A song filled the stale air and she began to dance.  I didn’t recognize the music, but that didn’t surprise me; I didn’t have a Stripper Billboard Hits playlist. The woman
stalked toward me, expertly maneuvering on stiletto heels that would have had me tripping in a few steps. A predatory grin spread across her face as she straddled me, slinging her right leg and then the left over my lap, lightly resting her barely-covered backside on my upper thighs.  I could feel her thigh muscles twitch and strain as she hovered there, not wanting to rest her full weight on me.

"Feel free to touch
,” she said. “I make sure the male clients follow the rules, but I don't mind if the women get a little hands-on." She gave me a conspiratorial wink.

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t planning on it,” I stammered awkwardly.

She shrugged, noncommittally.  “Your loss.”  She swung her hips from side to side, dipping low every few beats. She ran her hands across her bare torso, the defined curve of her abdominal muscles flexing beneath her own touch. Her hands traveled north, up to her breasts and she squeezed the globes in her palms, the flesh molding and melding between her fingers.  Despite the unsettling feeling gnawing at the pit of my stomach, my eyes were transfixed on those hands.

She placed a hand on either side of me, gripping onto the arms of the chair.  She leaned forward slightly, and her breasts threatened to spill out of their lacy confines.
She snapped her head back, flipping her long, blonde waves and arching her back.

"So what brings you to Hell-A?"

I wasn't expecting the question and it caught me off-guard. I'd never had a lap dance before, and I guess I'd never thought much about what happened behind closed doors.  I guess it made sense that the dancers would talk to the client.  It normalized it, I suppose.

"What makes you think I'm not from here?"

"Sweetie, no one's actually from Hollywood.  We're all transplants looking for a piece of the American Dream."

"I'm just here for a few days with friends.
Long weekend vacation," I supplied.

She made an acknowledging humming noise. "Good trip so far?" She laughed before I could respond. "What am I saying?
Of course
you're having a good time. You've got
me
on your lap."

I laughed nervously.
I didn't know what to say, what to talk about. I hated small talk and the fact that I was conversing with a half-naked woman who periodically thrust her breasts into my face didn't help matters.

She stood up from my lap
and turned to face away, providing me with an eyeful of her pert backside hugged by the thin lace straps of her thong and garter belt.  She ran her hands through her hair, continuing to shake her hips to the beat, lifting her locks toward the sky. My eyes traveled north as well, admiring the strong back and shoulder blades that flexed and twitched like the smooth muscles of a panther or jaguar.